


By Any Other Name

by tuppenny



Series: All Ways [1]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (because people are terrible), F/M, some anti-semitism fyi (I'm not espousing it it's just something Davey encounters)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny
Summary: The Davey gets a girl story that you guys have been so patiently waiting for <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey starts law school

**September 1907**

Davey took a deep breath as he stepped off the streetcar that morning. He was well-acquainted with the campus of Columbia University, having just finished his senior year there four months before, but today it felt different. Today was his first day of law school, the day he’d been dreaming of for eight years now, ever since he’d decided he wanted to be a union lawyer. Or an immigration lawyer. Or a… well, some kind of lawyer. 

He took a deep breath and pulled open the door to the lecture hall that held his first class of the day, scanning the room for the perfect seat. The second row had some open spots. Good. He nodded to the other young men in the room, wondering if any of them were scholarship boys like him. Or first-generation college students. Or children of immigrants who’d grown up in tenement slums… 

 _Stop it, David. You belong here. You’re good enough._ He _was_ good enough, he knew that; he wouldn’t have gotten a scholarship if he weren’t. He’d graduated summa cum laude in the spring, his professors had written him glowing reference letters, he’d spent his summer evenings haunting the undergraduate library and reading until the staff shooed him out. He’d had his heart set on doing this ever since he’d met the newsboys and seen how speeches and stubbornness and solidarity could change the world, and he’d spent the intervening years doing everything in his power to be good enough for law school.

But just because you were good enough didn’t mean things would work out. Just because you were good enough didn’t mean they’d let you stay. He’d stopped wearing a kippah years ago, but as soon as the professor took attendance everyone here would know, anyway, and then they’d give him narrowed looks and murmur when he answered questions and refuse to let him study with them, and he’d have to spend the whole first semester trying to win them over. Assuming they were winnable, that is. Assuming he wanted to spend his limited free time trying to get people to like him.

“Gentlemen,” the professor said, striding down the aisle to the front of the room and beginning to unpack his files from his gleaming Italian leather briefcase. “Welcome to your first day of Contract Law. Pull out your notebooks and turn on your brains. I am Dr. Jeremiah Sykes, and now let’s see who you are…” He settled a pair of reading glasses on his nose and pulled out a typed sheet of the class roll. “Anderson?” 

“Here.” 

“Chilcot?”

“Present.”

Davey capped and uncapped his fountain pen, waiting for his turn, listening intently for a last name like his own, listening for a name that would reassure him, that would tell him he wouldn’t be the only one in his position, that maybe he’d have a friend here…

“Jacobs?”   

Davey winced as the professor called his name and the mutterings began, just as predicted. “Here, sir.”

 

*

 

“Heya, kid!” 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Davey said, jogging across the street to meet Jack, who was standing at the streetcar stop just outside of Columbia.

“Sayin’ hey ta my lawyer pal,” Jack said, smacking his gum and tipping his newsboy cap to Davey.

“I’m not a lawyer yet, Jack; this was just my first day,” Davey grumbled, but both boys knew he was secretly very pleased.

“Yeah, so ya already know way more about lawyerin’ than anyone else I know,” Jack said, socking Davey in the arm and following him onto the tram. “How was it? Got time f’r dinner, or ya got places ta be?” 

“I promised my family I’d have dinner with them tonight, tell them how things went,” Davey said, broadening his stance and gripping a handrail as the streetcar lurched forward. “Want to join?” 

“Won’t they mind?” 

Davey rolled his eyes. “If I've told you once, I've told you a million times, but I guess I have to say it again: You’re family, Jack. And we have enough chairs for Kath to join, too, if she’s free.” 

“She ain’t,” Jack said, bouncing on the balls of his feet and craning his neck so he could look out the window and watch the apartment buildings flick by. “I forget what her latest story’s about, but she’s been workin’ nights ta cover it f’r the last coupla weeks. Got me all antsy,” he said, resting a hand on his stomach and grimacing slightly at the thought of heading back to their empty apartment. “I could use some company t’night, ‘s long’s you’re sure your folks’re okay with feedin’ another mouth.” 

“We can swing by the store for you to pick something up if you’re that worried about it,” Davey said. “I got out of class a bit earlier than expected, so we won’t be late even if we make an extra stop.”

“Really?” Jack said, brightening. “Perfect. Don’t wanna show up empty-handed. C’n you an’ your family eat potato salad, Dave? I love that stuff.” 

“Yes,” Davey said, trying not to shut down at the contrast between Jack’s easy respect and his classmates’ disdain. He swallowed hard and turned to look out the window, not wanting Jack to see the shadow behind his eyes. “That sounds great, Jack.”

 

*

 

It didn’t take Davey long to decide he wasn’t going to bother winning anyone over at school. He’d done it before, but it took a lot of time and energy that he'd rather put into his studies. Besides, he had yet to make a good friend that way, anyway. Usually, 'winning someone over' meant that he gained grudging tolerance or condescending inclusion, and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. Law school took only two years; he could tough it out. 

He didn’t want to spend all of his time alone in his dismal dorm room, though, so he found himself killing hour after hour in the law library. He worked on homework, he familiarized himself with the call number system, he found the best spots to soak up the morning light, and he made note of the best shadowed corners for naps. Being surrounded by legal books wasn't quite as much fun as having actual friends, of course, but, given how little time he had and how long of a trek it was down to Lower Manhattan, he made do.

The library staff began to recognize him after a month or so. There was Miss Garrett, who was in charge of acquisitions and inter-library loan; Mrs. Thompson, whose role Davey couldn’t quite figure out, although he knew she was the library matriarch; Mr. Ewing, the reference librarian; Mrs. Silver, who was usually the one checking materials in and out; and Miss Rosenfeld, who seemed to be a sort of jack-of-all-trades.

“Did they ever teach you how to do all of these things?” He asked Miss Rosenfeld one day, watching her restock the shelves as he sat in a normally deserted corner of the library, curled up with a massive legal tome and a stack of briefs he was supposed to analyze for class. “Or do they just ask you to do them?” 

She paused, although she didn’t look his way. “Did they ever teach you how to do the assignments you’re given, or do they just expect you to figure most of it out?”

“The latter,” he said.   

She nodded and slotted the last book back into place. “Happy studying, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep, here we go! This has literally been plotted since January, so toss as many wild theories at me as you want and see how much you guess right :D 
> 
> Thanks for being patient, and I hope this ends up being worth the wait!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey has a late night

**October 1907**

As midterm exams began to loom, Davey found himself having to share the library with other students.

“They’re awful,” Mrs. Silver grumbled to him one afternoon. “Tossing books back willy-nilly, leaving things everywhere for us to reshelve… I can’t wait until they’re gone.” 

“Me, either,” Davey said, allowing himself the indulgence of complaining. “They keep taking my favorite chair.”

“The one by the window?” Miss Garrett asked, leaning over from the acquisitions desk.

“That’s the one,” Davey replied, straightening the stack of scrap paper at the check-out desk and slotting stray pencils back into the wooden pencil holder.

“We’ll save it for you,” Miss Garrett said with a smile.

Davey startled and blushed. “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he said, adjusting the strap of his satchel.

“You’re a respectful young man, Mr. Jacobs,” Mrs. Silver said, finishing the last of the check-out slips in Davey’s stack and sliding the books across to him. “Always so polite and tidy…” She paused to sneeze. “And thoughtful, too, asking me about my husband’s health and my daughter’s pregnancy.”

Davey began slipping the books into his satchel, hoping to escape the rest of Mrs. Silver’s praise. “I’m just doing what anyone would,” he stammered, cheeks flaming.

“Well, that’s just it,” said Miss Garrett, her rosy cheeks dimpling. “None of the other students do those things, Mr. Jacobs. Only you.”

“Exactly,” said Mrs. Silver, bobbing her head and causing the gray hair piled on top of her head to wobble precariously. “You’re always doing nice things for us. Let us do something nice for you.” 

“I… Thank you,” he said, his face and neck now both completely scarlet.

“You’re most welcome,” Miss Garrett said, twirling a curl around her finger and smiling even wider.

They kept their word, too—as midterms drew ever-nearer and the library got more crowded, Davey was always guaranteed his favorite armchair by the big bay window. Miss Garrett would pile a stack of new acquisitions on it until he arrived, or Mrs. Silver would place a little sign saying ‘reserved,’ or Mr. Ewing would push it somewhere else entirely, restoring it to its rightful place only once Davey walked through the doors. 

It really was the perfect spot; secluded but brightly lit, with a view of campus that reminded him how lucky he was to live and work somewhere so beautiful. He’d tried sitting elsewhere, but anything close to the front of the library was hopeless. He’d get distracted watching Miss Rosenfeld trying to direct confused visitors out of the library and to the building they actually wanted to find, he’d blink and realize he’d spent the last five minutes mesmerized by the stamping and stacking Mrs. Silver did as she checked books in and out, or he’d focus on the rhythm of Miss Garrett’s cloppy heeled shoes as she walked back and forth from her desk to Mrs. Thompson’s office and end up reading and rereading the same page five times over. 

No, the armchair really was the best spot. Unfortunately, it was also surprisingly comfortable and tucked in such a quiet corner that, late one night in the middle of exam week, he fell asleep right in the middle of reading through his notes on tort law. To be fair to Davey (and to his tort law professor), it wasn’t that he found the material boring; he was simply exhausted. 

If it was anyone’s fault, it was Crutchie’s. Rosie had gone into labor with her firstborn around eight last night, and of course Davey had rushed over as soon as he’d heard. As often happened with first children, the delivery was a long one, and so Davey, Crutchie, Crutchie’s father-in-law, and Jack ended up staying awake half the night, desperately awaiting news while also trying to distract each other from the mingled excitement and fear that accompanied the birth of a child. And although Davey cared more about Crutchie and Rosie and their first baby than he did about a few hours’ sleep, he would have had an easier day if Daniel Oliver hadn’t taken his dear sweet time about entering the world.

Davey snatched about thirty minutes of sleep on the subway and another forty-five in his dorm before stumbling blearily off to class for his Civil Procedure exam, scrawling down answers that felt coherent in the moment, but… well, who knew what he’d written. He certainly didn’t. He didn’t know what was going on when he was startled out of a dreamless sleep by a lightly-accented voice, either.

“Mr. Jacobs?”

Still more asleep than awake, he laughed, the familiar accent making him think he was at home. “What? I ain’t Mr. Jacobs ta you,” he said, his words a little slurred.

“Is that so?” The voice said, faintly amused. “Where do you think you are, Mr. Jacobs?” 

“Home?” He guessed, turning to hide his face in the back of the chair. He sighed with contentment, nestling into the soft leather. “Heaven?”

“Heaven. Huh. That’s a new one. Perhaps I should tell Abba I work in heaven, then. He might like that.” 

The accent jogged Davey back into semi-consciousness. “Funny,” he mumbled, struggling first to open his eyes and then to make out the figure standing above him in the dark library. “I… I din’t know angels… angels came from Poland…” 

“They don’t,” said the voice, its undercurrent of mirth more audible now. “But I do.” 

Davey yawned, mumbled something nonsensical, and fumbled around for his glasses. He was clearly supposed to be awake, because the voice wanted him awake, and he didn’t know why it did, but he figured he might as well listen, and maybe he’d get to see an angel from Poland if he cooperated, and wouldn’t Sarah love to hear about that, and… “Miss Rosenfeld!” He gasped, flushing fire engine red. He was fully awake now, no doubt about it, fully awake and fully mortified. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s alright,” she said, her words tinged with laughter. “Exam time takes a toll on students.”

“It’s not even—I just—I… Well, I was up all last night with my friend, waiting for his baby to be born,” he explained, biting his lip in embarrassment. “It’s his first, and I thought that… That is, I didn’t… I mean, I… I’m so sorry,” he finished lamely, shifting in the chair so that he was sitting like a normal person.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said, and he could’ve sworn he saw her eyes sparkle despite the dim light. “Heaven is closing for the night, though, so you do need to finish your nap somewhere else.” 

“Right,” he mumbled, jamming his cap onto his head and stuffing his books and notes into his satchel. “Sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing,” she said, already three rows of books away from him. “Save that for when you do something wrong.”

“Sor—” he began, then grimaced. “Okay. Right. Good night, then. Sorry about the mix-up. I’m not sure why I thought this was heaven.”

She laughed again, even farther away now. “Aren’t you?” He saw her pause and run her finger down the spine of a weathered hardcover book. And then, so softly that he wasn’t sure she’d said anything at all, he heard her whisper to herself, “Because I think it might be.”

 

*

 **December 1907**  

He passed his midterm exams with flying colors, of course, and although he was elated and shocked and very, very pleased, no one else seemed to be as surprised as he was. He’d have liked a little more enthusiasm from his friends and family, given that those exams had been _hard_ and he’d spent weeks preparing for them, but apparently they had all decided to show their support by saying they’d known he could do it, he was so smart, of course he’d done well, what did he expect, he was David Jacobs….

“Not the point,” he muttered, trudging through the early snowfall to get to the law library. “Also not helpful.”

Semester exams were upon him now, and although he was feeling overwhelmed and underprepared again, he wasn’t going to share that with anyone else. Because apparently David Jacobs was so smart that of course he’d do well. Apparently David Jacobs was so smart that he couldn’t help but succeed. David Jacobs didn’t struggle academically, David Jacobs just signed his name and the top marks appeared, David Jacobs should never expect anything but the best grades, and not because he worked harder than anyone else in his year, oh no, but because he was _David Jacobs…_

“Oof!”

“Sorry!” Davey jerked his head up to see whose back he’d stumbled into. “Oh, Miss Garrett, I’m so sorry—are you alright?” 

“Just fine, Mr. Jacobs,” she said, adjusting her tam-o-shanter and smiling brightly. “How are your studies?” 

“Also just fine,” he said, although the dark circles under his eyes said otherwise. “My semester ends in a week—this is the final push.” 

“Are you headed home for Christmas after that?” She asked, nodding her thanks to him as he held the door open for her.

“Yes,” he said, because that was easiest. “Are you?”

“I am,” she said, removing her hat and brushing the snowflakes off her coat.

“That will be nice,” he said, loosening his scarf and heading towards his usual armchair. “There won't be any careless students bumping into you at home, I assume.”

“No,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “Though I might miss that.”

Davey blushed and escaped into the rows of books, weaving his way to the armchair in front of the big bay window. He’d just finished unpacking his things and settling in for a long day of studying when a shadow fell over his book. Surprised, he looked up to see Miss Rosenfeld standing in front of him, the hint of a smile playing across her lips. 

“Happy studying, Mr. Jacobs,” she said, handing him a blanket and a thin pillow. “We close at eleven. Please plan your nap accordingly.” 

He gaped up at her, holding the blanket in one hand and the pillow in the other, scrambling for a clever response. But before he had time to think of anything at all, let alone anything witty, she turned away and disappeared into the stacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have already noticed, but the timeline for this overlaps with Bundle of Joy. So if you want to know what Jack and Kath are up to while Davey's being quiet and awkward, that story has the answers you're looking for. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for the overwhelmingly positive response to last chapter! Definitely a big reason why this one is up so promptly. (I mean, I *should* be writing my dissertation, but... academic writing uses different muscles than fun writing, and I am much too tired to attempt the former. It would all be gobbledygook. But heck, for all I know, *this* is gobbledygook. I'm wiped. I hope you like this chapter anyway.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey's friends set him up.

**February to April 1908**

Davey wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and began packing up his things. As he left, he waved goodbye to the trio of Mrs. Silver, Miss Rosenfeld, and Miss Garrett, who were clustered around the checkout desk, laughing at a newspaper clipping Miss Garrett had brought in.

“You’re leaving early,” Miss Garrett said, causing Davey to pause with his hand on the door. 

“I have a date,” he said with a smile, enjoying the women’s attention and excited squeals. 

“Ooh, tell us more!” Miss Garrett leaned over the front desk and kicked up her back leg, balancing precariously on one high-heeled foot.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and shrugging slightly. “My friends are more interested in my love life than I am, so they insisted I give dating a shot and picked someone out for me.” He made a face. “I’ve never met her. My friend Jack swears she’s nice, and if she isn’t, he’s agreed to pay for the meal, so I suppose it’ll be alright either way.” 

“Well, have a nice evening, Mr. Jacobs,” Mrs. Silver said kindly. 

“Thank you,” Davey said, running his hand back and forth along the wood of the door. “I’m mostly going just to make my friends happy,” he admitted, “But who knows, maybe it will be nice.”

“How romantic,” Miss Rosenfeld said dryly, raising an eyebrow. 

Davey laughed. “Romance isn’t exactly my specialty,” he said, “But maybe this girl can help me with that. We’ll see.” 

“Good luck!” Miss Garrett said, beaming at him. “She’s a lucky lady, whoever she is!” 

 

*

 

“So you like to read, then?” 

“Love it,” said Davey’s date, smiling shyly. 

“Me, too,” he said, grinning. “Have you had time to read anything recently?”

“ _Fun der heym keyn amerike_? It’s Sholem Aleichem’s latest.”

“I know,” Davey said, his grin widening. “It’s fantastic.”

“It _is_ ,” she breathed, her eyes lighting up. “And so _funny!”_

“My sides ached the whole time I was reading,” Davey agreed. “Makes a nice change from the reading I do for class.”

“Jack tells me you’re in law school?”

“Yes,” Davey said, taking a sip of water from his glass. “One semester down, three to go.”

“It must be very difficult,” she said, tilting her head sideways and measuring him up.

Davey shrugged slightly. “It’s a lot of work, sure, but it’s work I want to be doing. Work that matters, you know? Work that will make a difference someday.”

She nodded and ate another forkful of broccoli. 

Davey poked the food around on his plate. “I want things to be better for the next generation than they have been for us, and law will let me do that. So yes, it’s hard, but it’s worth it. Unions need good lawyers, and so do immigrants, and… well, everyone who’s not already rich and famous.” He speared a carrot. “So right now I’m working as hard as I possibly can to be a good lawyer, and then from there... well, hopefully I can help the people who need it. We’ll see, I suppose. That’s still a long way off.”

“That’s an admirable goal, though,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “I suppose you spend a lot of time studying, then?”

“ _Most_ of my time,” Davey said, laughing. “Spending tonight with you? It’s a real treat. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had dinner with a girl instead of a legal book.”

She laughed and tucked a strand of brownish blond hair behind her ear. “Please tell me I’m better company than your books!”

“There’s no contest,” Davey assured her, reaching across to hold her hand. “You’re miles better.”

 

*

 

“If she was miles better, then why aren’t you going on a second date with her?” Miss Garrett leaned forward, her arms crossed.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Davey said, staring up at the ceiling. “Should I?”

“If you have to think about it this hard, then the answer is no,” Miss Rosenfeld said, slightly bored.

“Be nice,” Mrs. Silver said, nudging Miss Rosenfeld. “Affairs of the heart are complicated, my dear.”

“These books need reshelving,” Miss Rosenfeld muttered, unable to feign interest any longer. She gave the restocking cart a shove and disappeared into the stacks.

“Don’t mind her,” Mrs. Silver said, waving a hand at Davey. “Tell us more. What did your friend have to say about what this girl thought of the evening?”

“Oh, I haven’t heard from him,” Davey said, blithely adjusting his satchel. “Should I have?” 

Miss Garrett and Mrs. Silver exchanged looks.

“He needs more help than we thought,” came Mrs. Thompson’s voice, which echoed out of her office and bounced loudly through the atrium.

Davey winced. “Ouch.”

 

*

 

“…and _then_ she downed an entire cocktail like it was lemonade, ordered another, finished that one, and asked for a rum and coke,” Davey moaned, his hand on his forehead. The women all tsked, and Davey sighed. “Most expensive disaster date I’ve ever been on." 

Miss Garrett frowned. “I thought your friend Jack said he’d pay for it if it went poorly?” 

Davey gave a short laugh. “Jack did, yes, but my friend Race picked out this winner, so oh well.”

“Race?” Miss Rosenfeld asked. “That’s not a normal American name, is it?”

“No,” Davey said. “I don’t know why he’s called that, honestly, but he’s a racecar driver now, so it fits.” 

“A racecar driver?” Miss Garrett’s eyes widened. “What model does he drive?”

Davey blinked. “Well, right now he’s sponsored by the company that makes the Thomas Flyer.”

“Oh! Mr. Ewing, did you hear that?” She called across the atrium. “Mr. Jacobs has a driver friend sponsored by the Thomas Flyer company!” 

“ _The_ Thomas Flyer?” Mr. Ewing said, crossing to join the group at the circulation desk. “The car that’s competing in the New York to Paris Race?” 

“Yes,” Davey said, “Although my friend isn’t driving in that particular competition.” 

Miss Garrett leaned over the desk. “I’m surprised you have friends in such dangerous, dramatic professions, Mr. Jacobs!”

“I’m surprised you know about the Thomas Flyer,” Davey confessed. 

“I’m surprised you’re surprised,” Miss Rosenfeld said, clearly unimpressed by David and his almost-famous friend. “The race has been on the front page of _The New York Times_ every day for the last week and a half.”

“Has it?” Davey said, “I’ve been so busy with classes that I can’t remember the last time I read the paper. I should probably change that....”

“Well, the undergraduate library has an impressive periodical section,” Mrs. Silver chipped in.

“I try to buy them from newsies when possible,” Davey said, “But that’s still good to know.”

“Why would you spend money on something you can get for free?” Miss Rosenfeld asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Because I used to be a newsie,” Davey explained.

“That’s hard work,” Miss Rosenfeld said, and Davey nodded.

“It was. Anyway, I need to get to studying. Good to see you all.”

 

*

 

David was fidgeting at one of the desks in the library when a shadow crossed his line of vision. He looked up to see Miss Rosenfeld, her arms outstretched, extending an apple and a wrapped sandwich to him.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. 

“I—thank you, but I—” 

“Take it,” she said, placing the food on the table and leaving abruptly.

Davey stared at the apple and the sandwich for a few beats before looking around and pulling them greedily to himself. He _was_ hungry; that date of Race’s had swallowed most of his meal money for the rest of the month, and he'd been running on little more than dry bread and coffee for the last week. He wasn’t sure how Miss Rosenfeld had known or even _if_ she’d known—honestly, he hoped it was just a lucky guess—, but he was grateful for the help. And for the kindness of her quick departure, which allowed him to accept her gift.

 

*

 

“Any dates recently?” Miss Rosenfeld said, settling herself in the seat opposite David and handing him a sandwich wrapped in wax paper that was identical to her own. 

He looked up at her, ready to protest, ready to thank her, ready to do the awkward dance of 'I need this and you know it but we must both pretend otherwise,' but she was studiously focused on her own food, so Davey dropped it. “It was my brother’s turn last week,” he said, his voice wry. 

“Not a success?” 

“Not in the least,” Davey said, peeling back the wax paper to find pastrami on rye. “Ooh, pastrami!”

“So what was wrong with this one?” 

“Hmm?” Davey asked, his mouth full of sandwich. “Oh. Um. You don't mean the sandwich." Miss Rosenfeld gave him an exasperated look, and Davey thought for a moment. "Well. Hmm. She was fine, but..." He scrunched up his face and tried to put his finger on just why things hadn't felt right. "I think the problem was that she was really more the sort of girl that my brother would like to date. She was very…” He waved his hand, searching for the right word.

“American?” 

Davey laughed. “That’s a good way to put it.” 

Miss Rosenfeld smiled. “Well, I hope you find someone.” 

He smiled with his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m not in a hurry. Honestly, I’m too busy for that sort of thing right now…” He took another bite of sandwich and sighed with happiness. “Where’d you buy this bread?” 

“Homemade,” she said, sounding affronted.

“Oh! I’m sorry—I just assumed, I mean, you’re here all day, so I thought… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “I’m not actually upset. I was teasing you.”

Davey relaxed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I _am_ pretty gullible.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Better work on that if you want to be a lawyer.” 

“I’m better in formal settings,” he said. She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling, and Davey flushed slightly. _Her eyes are really pretty… Have they always been this pretty?_ He gulped. “So, uh… How about you?”

“I’m not so gullible,” she said, smiling.

His blush deepened. “I meant—”

“I’m not in a rush, either,” she said, taking pity on him.

Mrs. Thompson’s voice echoed through the library. “Miss Rosenfeld, you’re needed in the front office.”

“Bye,” she said, stuffing the rest of her sandwich into her dress pocket. 

“Bye.”

 

*

 

“It’s only mustard on rye today,” Miss Rosenfeld said, handing David a sandwich and sitting down in the armchair next to his. 

“And I brought you an apple,” he said in reply. 

She took it and nodded her thanks. “Whose turn was it this week?” 

“Katherine’s,” he said, licking a dollop of mustard off his thumb. “That’s the name of my friend—not my date. She’s married to Jack.”

“I had no idea you were so scandalous! Dating married women, my goodness,” she teased.  

“It’s my modus operandi,” he said, keeping his face straight. “You should try it sometime. The married ones are the most fun.”

She laughed. “So, if Katherine is married to Jack, then does that mean that she’ll pay you if the date goes poorly, too?” 

“Probably,” Davey said, pursing his lips, “But it was a nice date, so there’s no need to find out.” 

“Tell me more.”

“Her name is Chaya,” he said, encouraged by Miss Rosenfeld’s answering smile. “She’s nice. Really nice.” 

“Better company than your legal books?”

“Far better,” he said, grinning. 

“I’m glad,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find you’re not too busy for this sort of thing, after all.” 

“Maybe,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

She nodded, and they lapsed into an easy silence, finishing their lunch. As they finished, he pointed at the edge of his lip to indicate to her that she had mustard on her face, and she scrubbed it away, her cheeks pink. 

"Thanks," she said, and gathered up the apple cores and wax paper. "See you later."

"Bye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The New York-Paris car race + the Thomas Flyer stuff is accurate & period-appropriate. The race began on February 12, 1908, in Times Square; the American team won. 
> 
> _Fun der heym keyn amerike_ , which is Yiddish for "From Home to America," was published in late 1907. It was the first part of Sholem Aleichem's 2-part saga titled _Motl, Peysi the Cantor's Son_ , and it details the protagonist's experiences growing up in Europe. (Part 2 is about his life in America.)
> 
> I hope you liked it! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey has a quiet summer and you get none of the answers you want

**June 1908**

The middle of June brought both the start of summer holidays and the start of Davey’s three-month trainee job at a legal office up in the Bronx. After an exhaustive search of the borough, he managed to find a squalid room for rent at a reasonable price and moved in as soon as classes ended. As a summer employee, Davey wasn’t tasked with anything critical or exciting; he spent most of his days sitting at a rickety desk, where he sorted through paperwork, took notes, and helped translate for clients who spoke Yiddish or Polish or German. The translation work was his favorite, although enough of the other staffers spoke multiple languages to mean that Davey’s stints as an interpreter were few and far between. Still, he liked the job well enough. He liked observing the day-to-day of a law office, he liked seeing how the monotonous parts of the job made the meaningful parts possible, he liked getting to apply his formal in-class training to the messy reality of city life.

He didn’t like being so busy that it was nearly impossible for him to make it home to Lower Manhattan (balancing a full-time job and summer classes was difficult even for the fabled David Jacobs), but he did his best to go back on alternate weekends so that he didn’t completely lose touch with the people he loved most in the world.

“You don’t have to come see us, Dovid,” his mother said, fussing over him by smoothing his hair back and adding another freshly buttered bagel to his plate. “You should save your money for school, not trams.” 

“I biked, Mama.” 

“Ech! So far! Save your strength.” 

“I _want_ to come home,” Davey protested, turning slightly to catch his mother’s hand. “I like being here.”

“Besides, Mama,” Sarah added, “Little Rivka needs to get to know her Uncle David. Isn’t that right, shaifeleh? Hmm?” She bounced her baby in her lap as Rivka made meaningless sounds.

“That _is_ right, yes it is,” Davey cooed, taking Rivka from his sister and starting a game of peekaboo. 

“As long as you’re not doing it because you think you have to,” his mother said, relenting. “You come home only when you want to, na?” When David didn’t respond immediately, distracted by Rivka, she pressed, “Okay, bubbeleh?” 

“Okay, Mama.”

 

*

 **July 1908**  

“Ya really don’t gotta come all this way ta see us, Dave,” Jack said, rolling his shoulders as he walked side by side with Davey to pick up some fresh blackberries for a cobbler that Jack wanted to surprise Katherine with when she got home from work. 

“I want to,” Davey said. “And anyway, if I don’t visit you, I won’t see you. How often are you two –or, heck, any of the boys— going to make it up to Woodlawn Heights?” 

Jack nodded his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Fair point. Newspaper schedule makes trips that far kinda hard. Unless I visit ya at night… but we both know I’d fall asleep ‘fore makin’ it back.” He pursed his lips and then brightened as he thought of a solution. “I could take a half day!” 

Davey laughed. “Sure, but _I_ couldn’t.”

Jack frowned and then laughed sheepishly. “True.”

“It’s fine, Jack,” Davey said, knocking his shoulder gently into his friend’s. “I get to see everyone in one weekend this way; it’s more bang for my buck.” 

They finished their shopping run and were back in the apartment before either of them felt the need to speak again. “So, catch me up on you an’ Kath,” Davey said, rinsing off the blackberries as Jack set out the ingredients he’d need to make the crust. “Anything new?” 

“Maybe,” Jack said, his voice gruff and his eyes focused on the countertop. “Ask me again in a month.” 

“That’s cryptic,” David said, raising an eyebrow, and Jack held up his hands. 

“Gimme a month, Davey.”

“So I should ask you next game night, is what you’re saying.” 

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Davey said, shrugging.

“How about you, though?” Jack asked, beginning to beat the wet ingredients together. “Anything new? Or,” he asked, sidling closer to Davey and putting on a goofy grin as he batted his eyelashes, “Any _one_ new?” 

Davey snorted. “Shove off,” he said, pushing Jack away. “I c’n barely find the time to see my family an’ you guys; where the heck am I supposed to get the time to find a girl?”

“But _I_ found you a girl!” Jack objected. “A nice one, too! An’ so did Kath!”

Davey sighed. “Okay, fine, yes, they were both nice—”

“An’ they were both girls!”

“ _Yes_ ,” Davey said, rolling his eyes. “But those two basic qualifications are hardly enough to merit starting a romantic relationship with someone.” 

“Picky, picky,” Jack said, shimmying his shoulders a little. 

“Oh, come on,” Davey said. “I’m allowed to have standards.” His lips twitched as he added, “For example, Specs has that pet bird, Susie Shoe? She’s a nice enough girl, but I’m not going to date her.” 

Jack groaned. “ _That’s_ the loophole you’re goin’ for? Honestly, Jacobs, with the way you lawyerized this conversation, they oughta just give you that diploma now.”

Davey grinned. “Yeah, well, if they would, then I’d have a little more time to get to know your nice girl or Kath’s nice girl, but for now I’m getting to know some pretty nice Latin phrases instead.”

“C’n ya warm up with Latin phrases on a cold night?” Jack muttered, his attention already back on his pastry. “No.” 

“Yes,” Davey shot back. “If you burn the book they’re written in.”

Jack burst out laughing. “Okay, fine. I’ll drop it. Can’t guarantee the others’ll do the same when they sees ya t'night, but I’ll stay outta your hair... 'til next month, anyway," he said, grinning roguishly. 

Davey smiled. “Thanks, Jack. Pass me a fork, please?” 

“Here you go.”

 

*

**August 1908**  

Davey left that month’s Kelly-hosted game night feeling more than a little dazed. Katherine was _pregnant_. She was having a _baby_. Jack was going to be a _father_.

And as the high of the good news began to fade, he had to ask himself: What about him? What had he accomplished so far in life, huh? What did college-educated, whip-smart David Jacobs have to show for himself?

Nothing. 

He had no job, no apartment, no wife—heck, not even a _girlfriend_. He certainly had no children; he didn’t even have a pet. He had nothing and no one, and with every passing year it seemed less and less likely that anyone would ever want him at all.

He’d considered things logically, knowing that sometimes it took men a little longer to find someone, but every time he ran through the facts he ended up with the same problem: If no one wanted him now, why would anyone want him later? His face was asymmetrical, his nose pulled to the left when he smiled, his dark hair grew at an impossible rate, he had to wear glasses when he read, he blushed far too easily and missed most of the dirty jokes the boys flung around, he still felt wrong-footed when he tried to socialize in a large group, he’d rather stay home and read a book than go out, he’d never in his life felt the urge to do something with one of the disreputable women he’d seen on the streets as a newsie, the ones who cast him come-hither eyes and offered him a whirlwind night with no consequences… He’d never even _kissed_ a girl, for heaven’s sakes, and if the boys ever found _that_ out then he’d really be done for, and… Well, and, and, and.

And.

And he didn’t have the money to compensate for any of those flaws.

And as he dragged himself back up the stairs to his tiny rented room, he kicked himself for being a wallowing, self-centered ingrate. He was thrilled for Jack and Katherine, he really was; he knew that having a family was Jack’s heart’s desire, that this baby was the culmination of years of praying and dreaming and wishing and hoping on Jack’s part. This baby was going to be Jack’s world. In fact, it already was. 

And he knew that Katherine, while less openly effusive about the pregnancy, was secretly glowing with happiness. He knew that this would be harder for her than for Jack, and that the prospect of those unavoidable challenges tempered some of her excitement, but he also knew that she wanted to be a mother. She really did. And soon she would be. Her curly-headed child, running around the apartment, snuggling up next to her with a soft sigh, nestling its head in the safety of her arms. She wanted that, he knew; her shy smile and the protective wariness in her eyes made that plain as day. She wanted a child, and by March she’d have one.

His two closest friends were having a baby, and he couldn’t be happier for them.

Still, he couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous for all the things they had, the things they had that he so dearly wanted, the things he wanted but had yet to find and had no idea how to get.

A wife. A child. A job. A home. A place of his own in someone else’s heart, and the privilege of holding that someone in his arms and choosing to love her until he died.

He kicked his shoes off, wedged a spindly chair under the bedroom door handle to keep anyone from coming in without him knowing, and flopped face first onto the mildewed bed. He took a deep breath, choking slightly on the moldy smell of the pillow, and sighed. Oh well, even the selfish part of him could be grateful that Jack and Katherine’s news would divert the gang’s attention from him and his nonexistent love life, and then in less than a month he’d be back at school full-time, where his courses would keep him far too busy to care about girls and children and families and wouldn’t his mother just be over the moon at the prospect of another grandchild, and oh how he wanted to see his wife rocking their baby in the soft dawn light, and wouldn’t it be nice to have someone whose hand he could hold and whose voice he could drown in and whose eyes would reassure him that he was home, and he was loved, and he’d done enough for today, and for now he needed to get some rest, and he could try again tomorrow… He felt his eyelids drooping shut, and, with these dreams flitting through his head, he slipped quietly into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shaifeleh—little innocent child/baby
> 
> Feel free to yell at me for this :)
> 
> If you want to know how August game night at the Kellys' went, that story is [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13934157)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey returns to law school

**September 1908**

David heaved a sigh of relief once he moved his things back into his dorm room. It was no bigger than the room he’d rented over the summer, but the sheets were cleaner (since they were his own), there weren’t any fleas, and it was quiet. Blissfully, wonderfully quiet. When he was growing up, his mother would sometimes tell stories of the Old World, of how she’d wake up in the mornings to birdsong or the rat-a-tat-tat of an overzealous woodpecker, of how automobiles didn’t even exist back then and anyone needing to get to the next town over had to walk or wait for a wagon, of how she fell asleep listening to the snores of her siblings and the thrum of the crickets perched in the fields beyond. 

He couldn’t fathom such things. Not really, anyway. Not when the biggest field he’d ever seen was the baseball field at the Polo Grounds. And he hadn’t seen even _that_ in more than a decade, because baseball belonged to a time in his life when money wasn’t so tight. His father had never understood baseball, couldn’t see why David preferred it to soccer, wasn’t even a casual spectator when the neighborhood boys played stickball out in the street on muggy summer nights. Still, he did his best to play catch with David in the park from time to time, and he’d elicited tears of joy from seven-year-old David when he’d done the impossible and surprised his son with birthday tickets to see the New York Giants play. The stadium was crowded and hot, the spectators were rowdy and overly invested, and the Giants remained firmly mired in a seemingly unbreakable slump, but David loved every loud, abrasive, beer-soaked second of it.

No, David’s world simply didn’t have silence of the sort his mother described. Or at least it hadn’t until college, when he’d moved into his own dorm room and realized that things could be quiet. Rooms could be still. There were pockets of the world without noise, without company, without all of the background hum that plucked at his nerves and set him on edge. His tiny little room at Columbia had quickly become a refuge from everything outside that buffeted him this way and that, and oh, had he missed it over the summer. 

He’d missed the library, too, and although the staff was too busy dealing with start of semester questions and crises to stop for a real conversation, he could tell that they were happy to see him. Mr. Ewing gave him a friendly wave, Mrs. Thompson bellowed a hello from her office, and Mrs. Silver, who was doing her best to soothe a distraught freshman, gave him a quick nod. Davey nodded and smiled back to all of them, figuring he’d catch up with them later.

He was winding his way through the stacks, lost in his own thoughts, when Miss Garrett flew out of nowhere and gave him a huge hug.

“You’re back!” She said, her cherry-red lips turning up just enough for him to admire her dimples.

 _Winsome; that’s the word for her_ , he thought, as she released him from her embrace and walked with him back to his favorite chair. She’d had a nice summer, yes, thank you, although it had been quiet without as many students around, and she’d missed him, and oh, if he’d been taking summer classes then why hadn’t he stopped by, oh, yes, yes, that makes perfect sense, my goodness hadn’t he been busy, and… 

“It really was nice to see you,” David said, giving her a smile as he slid the strap of his satchel from his shoulder. “I’m glad you caught me to say hello.”

“Oh,” she said, taken slightly aback at his having interrupted her. She brushed it off quickly, though, and smiled back. “Yes. You, too. It’s good to see you again, too, Mr. Jacobs.” She hovered a little longer, hoping Davey would say something in reply, but when he didn’t, she shook herself and lightened her voice. “Well, it’s a busy week for us librarians, so I’ll get back to my job and let you...” Her brows knit almost imperceptibly. “Well, classes haven’t started yet, so I guess you’re not here to study…” She blinked, trying to figure out why he was here at all, but then she shoved the thought aside and said cheerily, “Well, I’ll let you do whatever it is you came here to do, then, Mr. Jacobs.” 

“Thank you,” he said, giving her another smile and pulling out his notepad. 

She lingered for one more moment and then faded away, leaving David to his peace and quiet and solitude. He pulled out the small planner that Sarah and Avram had bought him for his 25th birthday and began to map out his semester, halfway nervous and halfway excited as he inked in times and locations for classes and appointments and lectures and presentations. Day after day began to fill up with his spidery handwriting, the handwriting he’d tried so hard to improve and only managed to shift from juvenile-illegible into sophisticated-illegible. 

“Mr. Jacobs?” Davey jerked his head up at the sound of the softly-accented voice, and his expression brightened in tandem with Miss Rosenfeld’s; it seemed she was happy to see him, too. 

“Miss Rosenfeld,” he said, beaming. “I’m sure you’re busy, but please, sit.” He spread his arm wide as if he owned the place, gesturing at the empty armchairs nearby.

She laughed and settled in the chair across from him. “I am busy,” she said, tugging her skirt down, “But it looks like you are busier?” 

He sucked in a breath as her gaze met his; he’d forgotten how pretty her eyes were. “Hmm?” Davey said, then looked down at his planner. “Oh. Yes, it’s going to be a full semester,” he said, flipping through the pages. 

“No peace for the wicked,” she said, laughter in her voice.

“I’m not wicked,” he protested, playing along. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you? You were on campus this summer, but you never came to visit us.”

Davey blinked. “You knew I was on campus?”

“Miss Garrett saw you crossing the quad in July and has been pining away ever since.”

David laughed, but when Miss Rosenfeld didn't laugh with him, he frowned. “She… no. Surely not. You’re joking.”

Miss Rosenfeld shrugged. “Believe what you want, I suppose, but you’re not the one who had to put up with her heavy sighs for two months straight.”

He flushed bright red and flipped his planner closed. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her words a little clipped. “Fix it?” 

“ _Fix_ —” he spluttered. “But it’s not my fault!”

She rose and smoothed her skirts. “Ask her out.” 

“What?!”

Miss Rosenfeld folded her arms across her chest and stared him down. “Take her to dinner. On a date. If it goes well, you can stop going out with these… floozies,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. 

“ _Floozies?_ ” 

“Yes,” she said, not understanding at all why he was so worked up. “Your friend, the car driver?” She frowned for a second and then nodded decisively as his name came back to her. “Speedy! Speedy makes you go on dates with floozies.”

“Speedy,” Davey repeated, struggling not to snort.

“That’s right,” Miss Rosenfeld said, crossing her arms again. “Miss Garrett is no floozy. Take her out, have a nice time, stop spending money on floozies.” 

“And if it goes poorly?” Davey asked dryly. “I have to see her almost every day, you know.”

“You are both adults,” she said, nonplussed. “You say that you are sorry that it didn’t work, and then you behave the same way you did before.”

This time Davey didn’t bother to disguise his snort. “Not once have I seen one of my friends pull off something like that.” 

Miss Rosenfeld gave him a disapproving look. “And you, Mr. Jacobs? Have you pulled off something like that? In case you’d forgotten, we are talking about you, not your friends.”

David gave a short laugh. The only dates he’d been on were the ones his friends had arranged for him that spring, and he hadn’t seen a single one of those women ever again. “No. No, I…” He trailed off. Miss Rosenfeld couldn’t have known that she’d hit a sore spot, but she had. “No.” 

“Have you tried?” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No.”

“Well, then,” she said, as if that settled it. His nostrils flared in frustration, and she rolled her eyes. “It is easy. Behave like the adult you are, and she will do the same. No awkwardness.” 

“It can’t be that simple.” 

“It is.” 

“I don’t like her in that way.”

“Have you ever considered it?”

David threw up his hands. “What? No!” 

“Think on it, then. And if you think on it and are certain there’s no way you would ever care for her as more than a friend, find a kind way to tell her so.” 

He scoffed. “There is absolutely no kind way to tell someone you don’t care about them in the way they want you to.”

“There is,” she said, rising from the chair and fixing him in place with her eyes.

He felt his face begin to heat up under the scrutiny of those beautiful, intelligent eyes, and he quickly looked aside, hoping to keep his cool. Simply knowing she was there, though, staring at him… it was almost unbearable. Those eyes could make a man agree to anything. They could have him on his knees and begging in a heartbeat. They were so dark he could barely tell where her pupils ended and her irises began, and he wanted to freeze time so he could study them intently, look into their depths without blushing, examine their sorrows, uncover their secrets, but… That was impossible, of course. So instead he lifted his head again and raised an eyebrow. 

“There is,” she repeated, her face impassive. “And you will find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holler at me, please :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey tries his best but is mostly just confused

**October 1908**

“So, Mr. Jacobs, are you headed home for the fall break?”

“I leave tonight,” he said, adjusting his satchel. “Do employees have a holiday, too?”

“No,” said Mr. Ewing, a little bit grumpily. “No days off for us.” 

“It’ll be quieter, though,” Mrs. Silver said, trying to soothe Mr. Ewing. “Fewer messes to clean.”

“Thank heavens,” grumbled Miss Rosenfeld, who was scrubbing at a massive ink stain that was splattered across the front of the check-out desk. 

“Any exciting plans for your time off, Mr. Jacobs?” Miss Garrett asked, flashing him a winning smile. 

Davey’s eyes shot over to Miss Rosenfeld, who was focused completely on the ink stain and couldn’t seem to care less what he said, and then back to Miss Garrett. “Not really, no,” he said, his voice light. “Work, sleep, say hello to family and friends. My sister is pregnant again,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “So maybe I’ll take my niece out for a bit, give Sarah some time alone.”

“I’m sure you’re wonderful with children,” Miss Garrett said, and Davey could smell her sandalwood perfume wafting across the desk.

“I could stand to be better,” Davey admitted, rubbing his neck. “But I think I just need some practice.” 

“That’s hardly a typical fall break for a handsome young man such as yourself, Mr. Jacobs,” Mrs. Silver said with a frown, looking him up and down. Davey gaped like a caught fish, prompting Mrs. Silver to wave a hand and say, “Don’t give me that. I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in a mirror before.” 

David’s eyebrows shot up practically to his hairline and he said, “I… I really don’t have a response to that.”

He could’ve sworn that he heard Miss Rosenfeld mutter “Some lawyer” under her breath, but when he shot a glance her way, she was still absorbed in her cleaning.

“I think Mrs. Silver wants an update on your love life,” Mr. Ewing said wryly, and Davey laughed.

“Mrs. Silver!” He teased. “Is that true?”

“Only if you don’t mind,” she said, her voice wistful. “My courting days are long since gone, and it’s nice to relive them through others.”

“I don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid,” he said kindly, putting a few stray pencils back into the pencil cup by the scrap paper. “I haven’t been on a date in months, nor do I plan to.”

“Well, that seems a shame,” Mrs. Silver sighed. “You’re only young once, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Davey said wryly.

“Have your friends run out of likely candidates to fix you up with?” Mr. Ewing scratched his head.

“More like they’ve run out of interest,” Davey said, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “But so have I, to be honest. Women are wonderful, of course, but I just don’t have the time for that at the moment.” 

“Well, I hope you know there’s never a right time for romance,” Mrs. Silver scolded. “You can’t wait for the right time, because it won’t ever come.” 

“And surely the right woman is worth making time for,” Miss Garrett chipped in, her voice a shade higher than usual.

Davey ran his hand up and down the strap of his satchel. “Mmm,” he said, buying himself some time to think. “I’m sure you’re both right…” He trailed off, and his eyes flicked over to Miss Garrett before darting away again. “I suppose I just haven’t me the right woman yet. There’s no one who makes me…” He scratched behind his ear. “Well, there’s no one who makes me want to make that time for them.” He kept his eyes on Mrs. Silver, unwilling to see the effect his words had had on Miss Garrett.

“And in the meantime,” he said cheerily, pretending he didn’t know what he was about to do, “I have wonderful female friends. Like you, Mrs. Silver,” he said, making the older woman blush, “And you, Miss Garrett,” he continued, feeling unnecessarily guilty over the librarian’s trembling lower lip, “And you, Miss Rosenfeld.” A wave of relief washed over him as he finished his speech, and he smiled, certain he’d successfully pulled off the kind, considerate ‘no thank you’ that Miss Rosenfeld had wanted him to arrange. To his surprise, though, her eyes had gone even darker at his words, and the mix of emotions he saw there—Anger? Disappointment? _…Heartbreak?_ —sucked all the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t understand what had happened—he’d done what she wanted, and he’d done it well. Hadn’t he?

“We’re lucky to consider you our friend, as well,” Mrs. Silver beamed, still thoroughly flattered. 

“Quite,” Miss Garrett said faintly, excusing herself to return to her own desk. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Miss Rosenfeld said, her tone oddly flat. Her luminous eyes were still trained on David, who had no idea what was wrong. “Just thrilled.” She gave one last scrub at the ink stain and walked away, her gait stiff.

He watched Miss Rosenfeld leave, stared quietly at the empty spot where Miss Garrett had stood, and then gave an utterly bewildered look to Mrs. Silver. She just laughed. “Enjoy your break, Mr. Jacobs.” 

“Right,” he said, blinking rapidly. “Thanks. I’ll see you in… in a week, I suppose.”

 

*

 

**Simchat Torah—October 18, 1908**

Davey was leaving the synagogue he attended while at school, shaking hands and clapping the backs of the men he knew. The steps down to the street were crowded with people, and as he turned to wave goodbye to yet another casual acquaintance, he bumped into the person in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, I— Miss Rosenfeld!” He exclaimed, startled to see the librarian outside of her natural habitat.

“Mr. Jacobs!” She said, equally surprised. 

“What are you—” They both said at the same time, then shared an awkward laugh. 

Davey quirked a half smile. “You first.”

“I open the library most days,” she explained, “And it is too far from home for me to celebrate Simchat Torah properly, get to bed on time, wake up before dawn, travel to campus, _and_ make it through a full day’s work.” Davey nodded, and she added, “Mrs. Silver lets me stay with her for days like this. She’s around here somewhere,” she said, craning her neck as if she could somehow immediately find the older woman in the crowd.

“I suppose that explains why I haven’t seen you here before,” Davey said, his hands shoved firmly into his pockets. 

“Yes,” she said, still trying to spot Mrs. Silver. She shrugged, gave up, and gave David her full attention. “So you are observant, then?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“But you are not Haredi,” she said, unrepentantly continuing to pry into his personal matters.

“No,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” She examined his face for a moment, her dark eyes fixing him in place, and he tried to shake the feeling that he was taking a test he hadn’t studied for. “Well,” she said eventually, her face lightening, “I will see you tomorrow, then, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Yes.”

 

*

 

**November 1908**

David was at the library doors as soon as they opened that day, his satchel full of schoolbooks and his hands full with a thermos and paper bag. Miss Rosenfeld gave him a smile as she unlocked the doors for him and pulled it inwards to let him enter. 

“Good morning, Mr. Jacobs,” she said, her normally-sharp eyes still a little fuzzy from having woken up too early.

“Good morning, Miss Rosenfeld,” he replied, making a beeline for the circulation desk and setting his thermos, bag, and satchel down on top of it.

“Mrs. Silver is not here yet,” she commented, following him over. “It’s just me. You will have to wait until she gets here to renew your books.”

“I’m not renewing my books,” he said, unbuckling his satchel. She frowned when, instead of pulling out a stack of books, he removed two chipped ceramic mugs. “I’m making your morning a little bit better.” She gave him a skeptical look and folded her arms across her chest, but he just grinned, setting the mugs down on the desk and opening up the thermos, pouring liquid into one and then the other. “Coffee?” 

She blinked. 

He picked up a mug and held it out to her, his eyes dancing. “Early morning for you, yes?”

“Yes,” she said, a little bemused.

He gave her a nod, still grinning widely, and unrolled the top of the paper bag, removing two bagels from it. “Poppyseed or plain?”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“I like them both,” he interrupted, “So pick whichever one you want.”

“But—”

He shook his head and tsked. “Coffee’s getting cold.”

She smiled. “Poppyseed.”

He smiled back and handed her the bagel, and as she took it he realized with a jolt that he hadn’t been watching her movements to be sure she had the bagel before he let go of it; he’d been admiring how dainty her hands were in comparison to his own. _What on earth?_ Feeling flustered for no reason at all, he grabbed the remaining mug and started off for the back of the library, his cheeks beginning to heat up.

“Wait,” Miss Rosenfeld said, her voice a little louder than necessary, especially considering they were the only two people in the building. Davey stopped and looked over his shoulder, feeling his heart flutter as his eyes met hers. She licked her lips briefly and asked, “Will you… Will you eat breakfast with me?” 

His face dissolved into yet another dazzling smile, and he loped back to the front desk even quicker than he’d left it. He rested his coffee mug on the circulation desk and tugged his satchel off once more, lowering it gently to the floor. “So, how ‘bout them Giants, huh?” 

She laughed and took a sip of her coffee. He winked in response and took a breath to introduce an actual topic of conversation, but she cut him off by saying, “They should have been in the World Series this year, not the Cubs.” He choked slightly on a mouthful of coffee, and she waved a piece of her bagel around in the air to illustrate her point, saying, “If Merkle had just run another ninety feet, we would have beat Chicago, and then there is no way we’d have lost to Detroit.”

“Exactly!” Davey flung his arms wide in disbelief. “Ninety feet! Ninety feet and we’re in the World Series!” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “That bonehead.”

“Or maybe he did touch second,” Miss Rosenfeld said, pursing her lips. “I could not tell from the papers whether he did or not. My cousin was there, and even he could not tell. So maybe he did! Maybe we won!”

“Maybe we did!” Davey drummed on the desk and gave an indignant huff. “You know, I hope the Cubs never win another. It’d serve them right for winning on a technicality. Dirty play.” 

“Forever is a long time,” Miss Rosenfeld mused, taking another sip of her coffee. “Maybe just not another one this century?”

“Hmm.” David finished his mouthful of food and played along. “So forever is too much, but a century is okay?” 

“I think so,” she said, and although her tone was serious, the laughter in her eyes gave her away.

“I do, too,” he said, and they both smiled.

 

*

 

**December 1908**

David was bent over his books, pages of scribbles strewn across the desk, an empty thermos of coffee by his elbow, a bitten pencil wedged behind his ear.

“Mr. Jacobs?”

He jumped and looked up to see Miss Rosenfeld standing on the other side of the desk, and his frustration at being disturbed dissipated like morning mist.

“The library is closing.”

“Oh,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes. “Right. Sorry.” He sighed and began to shove his things into a pile that he could pick up and stuff into his satchel, not even bothering to put them in order.

“Or…” She hesitated and looked behind her to the front of the library, where the rest of the staff was tugging on their coats and snapping off their desk lamps.

David paused with a stack of books in one hand and his satchel in the other. “Or?”

“Or I could let you stay here overnight,” she said, her voice low. “It is my night to lock up, so I could… I could let you stay. If you wanted.” 

Davey gaped. 

“Or not,” she said hurriedly, biting her lip and turning to leave. “Never mind.”

“No, I—that would be nice. Please. I’d really—” He took a breath to gather his thoughts. “That would be a huge help.”

She stopped, her back still to him, and nodded. “Alright.” He saw her shoulders rise and fall and wondered if he was imagining the catch in her voice. “I will be at the front desk if you need me.”

“Thank you.” He returned to his studies and the hours flew by—midnight, one, two, three, and then, at four, a blessedly blissful catnap with his head buried in the fabric of his favorite library armchair. He woke on his own at six-thirty, the first rays of wintry sunlight glinting through the floor-to-ceiling library windows. “Mmm,” he groaned, stretching his arms and checking his watch. His exam wasn’t for another two hours; if he packed up now, he’d have time to shower, dress, eat, and flip through his notes once more before the test. 

He stopped by the circulation desk on the way out to thank Miss Rosenfeld and found her asleep in her chair, her head lolling to one side. He felt an odd pull in his stomach at the sight of her like that, so still and unaware, and then he wondered why he felt dirty for looking at her without her knowledge, and why he couldn’t stop staring at her rumpled clothes and dark undereye circles, and why the tangled curls that had escaped from her updo were begging him to wind them around his fingers…

She sighed and sagged even farther sideways, and now her chin was squished against her neck, and the corners of her eyes were goopy from sleep, and he could smell her morning breath from across the desk, and… and he shouldn’t have woken her up, damn it, because she was beautiful, and he wanted to stare at her forever.  

“Miss Rosenfeld,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat and repeated himself, and she stirred at the sound, her face slowly shifting from sweet repose back into the swift alertness he’d come to associate with her.

“Mr. Jacobs,” she said, rubbing at her eyes and sitting up straight. “Are you done studying?” 

“For now,” he said. “For this semester, anyway.”

“Good luck on your exam,” she said, coughing slightly at the dryness of her throat.

“Thank you,” he said. “See you after the winter break.” 

Something indefinable flashed across her face then, but it was only a glimmer, and it was gone before he could even start to process whether it was sadness or expectation or resignation or joy. She wet her lips and took a deep breath as if to say something important, but then she scanned his face, bit her lip, and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, whatever it was had passed, and she was fully in control of herself once more. “Happy Hanukkah,” she answered, and her voice was measured, giving him no clue as to her state of mind. He met her gaze steadily, trying to determine if there was something more that needed to be asked or said before he saw her again in January, but the darkness of her eyes gave nothing away.

“Happy Hanukkah,” he said finally, giving her a nod. “Thanks again.”

She nodded back, trying fruitlessly to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. 

And so David turned, tugged on his thick woolen cap, and set out for his dorm room, leaving Miss Rosenfeld sitting all alone in the empty library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Simchat Torah](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simchat_Torah%20) is a holiday. 
> 
> Haredi is a collective name for a variety of groups that fall under the purview of Orthodox Judaism.
> 
> “How ‘bout them __sports team__?” Is **super** anachronistic. 
> 
> The baseball chat is all accurate and references [a real incident](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merkle%27s_Boner) from 1908. I highly recommend clicking even if you couldn't care less about baseball; the name of this sports goof is pretty funny to modern ears.
> 
> I hope you liked it! <3 I am *super* excited about the next four chapters--the whole time I've been writing the previous stuff, I've just been itching to get to this final set of plot points. So buckle up! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey has a delayed realization

**January 1909**

It had been a long month at home. Even though David had a daunting course schedule this term, as soon as he set foot on campus he felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He loved his family more than anything else in the world—in fact, sometimes Jack smacked him for talking about them so much—but returning to live in the tenements after a semester of Columbia’s organized peacefulness was always a shock to the system.

His family had recently switched apartment buildings so as to save a little money by living with Sarah and Avram, but the new place had no more space than the old, so Davey had spent the last month sharing the Bailey fold out bed in the living room with Les.

“It’s just like old times, huh, David?” Les asked, fidgeting to try and find a comfortable spot on the lumpy mattress.

“I don’t feel at home until I’ve spent a night gettin’ kicked in the shins by your bony little feet,” Davey laughed, tugging some of the coverlet back from Les. 

“They ain’t so little anymore, you blanket hog,” Les grumbled, tugging back. “An’ neither am I, so stop takin’ more’n your fair share.” 

“We both know you’re gonna steal ‘em back soon’s I start snoring,” Davey shot back, jerking another foot of blankets his way. Les was undeniably a man now; his voice had dropped years ago, his face was noticeably scruffy on the days he didn’t shave, and he was halfway through his sophomore year at the College of the City of New York. He would always be Davey’s little brother, though, and the six and a half years that David had on him were still playing in Davey’s favor. Les’ strength was still mostly potential, whereas David was full grown and capable of wrestling Les into submission over the rights to an extra share of the covers.

“I wouldn’t hafta if ya’d just give ‘em ta me in the first place, _dumkop_ ,” Les whined, yanking at the blanket again.

“Ain’t no one in school c’n understand you with your accent like that, you _putz_ ,” Davey said, rolling over in order to pin the edge of the blanket underneath him and make it harder for Les to win any ground back.

“Ya oughta hear yourself, _shmendrik_! You sound so Manhattan that even Jack’d have trouble puzzlin’ what you’re sayin’.” 

“ _Nem Zich a vaneh!”_

“ _Gey strashe di gens!”_

A furious tussle for the blankets began, ending only when Mr. Jacobs, safely in his own bed in another room, yelled, “Boys! _Sheket bevakasha!”_

“Sorry, Tateh,” David and Les chorused, contenting themselves with a few final, silent tugs and kicks before settling in for the night.

The silence stretched for several minutes before Les broke it with a whisper, saying, “I missed you, Dovid.”

“I missed you, too, Leyzele,” Davey whispered in return, and he smiled as he felt Les kick him gently in the hamstring. Sirens wailed outside, Sarah’s youngest child whimpered from the second bedroom, and the two young men fell asleep, their backs pressed together and their legs entangled for warmth. 

So yes, it had been lovely to be home, but after spending a month in close quarters with his parents, his siblings, his sister’s husband, and two small children under the age of three, he was thankful to return to the privacy and calm of his dorm and his campus.

He smiled as that thought ran through his head; on his first day of college he’d felt like the worst sort of interloper, and then on the first day of law school he’d practically convinced himself he was only there because of some sort of clerical mix-up, but now—now this was his campus. It was. It had taken him almost six years to get to this point, sure, but he’d finally made it. He belonged here. Only for another few months, true, and this semester would be a whirlwind of applying for jobs and interviewing for positions and juggling classes with family obligations and helping Jack and Katherine once the new baby arrived, but still. He was a part of the fabric of this campus. This place was his.

It always had been, of course; it had always belonged to him just as much as to any other student. The wealthy financiers’ sons, the fourth and fifth generation Americans, the stoic Protestants—none of them deserved to be here more than he did. None of them had any more claim on this place than he did. And he knew that. He did. He’d known that since day one. Now, though—now he believed it. 

He entered the library with a sunny smile and made his way straight to the circulation desk. “Good morning, Mrs. Silver!”

“Mr. Jacobs!” She beamed. “It’s wonderful to see you again. How was your time at home?”

Davey caught her up on his life and segued seamlessly into questions about her own break, which had been significantly shorter than his; the university kept running even when classes weren’t in session. After getting a full report on each of her grandchildren, her husband’s poor health, and the rising price of the whitefish at her favorite fishmonger’s, Davey turned to Miss Garrett, who had surfaced halfway through Mrs. Silver’s monologue, and smiled. 

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” 

“I did,” she said, and extended her left hand to him, her cheeks pink with pleasure. “I got engaged.”

His eyes widened at the sight of the massive diamond, and he grinned up at her. “Congratulations! What wonderful news!”

“Thank you,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling just as brightly as the gemstone on her finger.

Mrs. Silver oohed and bent in close to examine the ring more closely. “That man is head over heels for you,” she commented, admiring the way the winter light played across the facets. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Miss Garrett sighed, a dreamy look settling on her face. Then she blinked, straightened, and gripped Mrs. Silver’s shoulder tightly. “I need your advice about the wedding!” She grabbed a pencil from the cup on the circulation desk, and Davey slid a piece of scrap paper across to her. Miss Garrett nodded her thanks and returned her attention to Mrs. Silver. “Do you think a summer wedding is feasible? The timeline would be tight, but…” 

David excused himself as the wedding talk grew less and less comprehensible (and less and less interesting), and he wandered off to wave hello to Mrs. Thompson and shake hands with Mr. Ewing before disappearing into the stacks. He hadn’t spotted Miss Rosenfeld yet, but that wasn’t unusual; as the library’s jack of all trades, she didn’t have her own office and was generally the one to find him, anyway. He settled in to his favorite chair by the windows and began charting out his schedule for the coming weeks, losing himself in the satisfying activity of filling in the 1909 planner that Sarah and Avram had given him for Hanukkah.

Before he knew it, his stomach was rumbling for lunch. He hadn’t brought any food with him, seeing as he wasn’t going to be doing any long-term studying for classes before those classes even started, and although that reasoning had been sound, he still wished he had something to eat. He returned his attention to his planner and blocked out another week before his stomach growled again, this time much more insistently. He sighed, packed up his things, and left, waving goodbye to the library staff.

 

*

 

The first week of classes was so busy that David had no time for anything but work; even taking fifteen minutes to walk to the library felt like precious time he couldn’t sacrifice. Some part of him knew that all of the tasks that loomed so large in his head weren’t actually as big as he imagined, but he was so focused on suppressing his rising panic that he had no energy left for sorting through an avalanche of uncomfortable feelings. _Put your head down and turn your emotions off, Jacobs,_ he thought, and so he did.

Once he’d had time to gather himself, about a month into the term, he returned to the library. 

“Where have you been, Mr. Jacobs?” Mrs. Silver grabbed his slender hand and gripped it tight. “Are you alright? You look thin.” 

“I’m fine, Mrs. Silver,” he said, laughing. “This last semester of law school has me running here and there and everywhere, that’s all.”

“It better start having you run to the kitchen some, too,” she said, her tone disapproving. “You’re too skinny.”

“Mrs. Silver!” He protested. 

“She’s right,” Miss Garrett said, popping up from behind the desk, where she’d been sorting through a stack of office supplies. “Have you eaten today?”

He ran his thumb absently across his fingers and thought for a moment. “No?” 

Miss Garrett and Mrs. Silver shared an exasperated look, and Miss Garrett clopped off to Mrs. Thompson’s office. David rubbed at his eyes and shrugged. “I forget sometimes,” he said ruefully. “There’s so much going on, I just…” 

“Here,” said Miss Garrett, cutting him off as she returned, an apple in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other.

“What? I—” 

“Mrs. Thompson has a whole stash,” Mrs. Silver explained. “Eat.” 

“Thank you,” Davey said, giving in. He _was_ hungry, he realized; he hadn’t known until they’d brought it up, but… he was ravenous. As he made his way to his usual study spot while devouring the apple, he wondered how he’d been so obtuse as to forget to eat. And why hadn’t this happened last semester, or the semester before, or… _Oh_. 

He looked down at the remains of the apple, his stomach suddenly in knots. _Miss Rosenfeld_. He was used to eating lunch with _her_. He was used to her appearing out of the blue, a sandwich or a piece of fruit in her hand, and he’d offer her something in return, and her presence would force him—remind him— _compel_ him to set down his books and eat. Did he… why had… No. _Head down, emotions off_ , he reminded himself, and he unwrapped the chocolate bar. Clearly, he needed to spend more time in the library, because somehow his strange head had decided it couldn’t remember to eat unless he was surrounded by books. He closed his eyes and smiled at the sweetness of the chocolate, relaxing into the taste. _Glad I figured that out_ , he thought. From now on, he’d spend lunchtime in the library. Problem solved.

 

*

 

**February 1909**

It wasn’t solved, though. Or maybe he was wrestling with another problem altogether; he wasn’t sure. All he knew is that something felt off. And he couldn’t understand it, because he was eating lunch now. He frowned down at his orange and picked at the peel, frustrated by the niggling sense of wrongness in the back of his head. He poked through his thoughts and emotions, trying to figure out what on earth was bothering him. He made time for that sort of introspection now; lunch time was thinking time, and although he didn’t always enjoy being alone with his thoughts, he figured that a little self-reflection was necessary. It helped him process the waves of panic he felt throughout the day, bail the boat out a little bit, keep the storm at bay. And he was doing all of that this semester, because this semester he was eating alone. Not by choice, exactly; solitary thinking time was nice and all, but it wasn’t as if he’d refuse company if someone offered.

If Miss Rosenfeld offered. 

...Which she hadn’t.

Odd, that; had she not enjoyed their lunches together over the last year? She had seemed to, but Sarah always teased him for being unbelievably thick when it came to women, so he wasn’t sure he could trust his own perceptions. He sighed and tried to think back to their last interaction to see if maybe he’d said something wrong, if he’d unwittingly offended her, if he’d committed some terrible crime that made him an intolerable lunch companion. As he mentally scrolled through the weeks, the furrows in his brow grew ever deeper. What had he… when was the last time he’d… Hmm, it had been a while since he’d seen her, hadn’t it? In fact, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen her since… since that last day of exams in December? Was that possible?

He set his orange down, unexpectedly sick. He hadn’t seen her since December. He hadn’t seen her since December, and he hadn’t even noticed. 

 _Where is she?_  

He stuffed everything into his satchel and hurried to the circulation desk, interrupting Mrs. Silver in the middle of an interaction with a client. “Where’s Miss Rosenfeld?” He blurted, heedless of the other patron’s surprise and subsequent angry glare. 

Mrs. Silver blinked, her hand hovering over the checkout card pasted in the back of the book. “Miss Rosenfeld?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Davey said, breathless from running to the front of the library. “Where is she? I haven’t seen her in months.”

“She resigned,” Mrs. Silver said, thoroughly bewildered. “She gave her two weeks’ notice back in November; her last day was the last day of exams.” 

“ _What?”_

“She resigned,” Mrs. Silver repeated. “She hasn’t worked here since December.” Slowly, her confusion cleared, and realization dawned on her face. “Ohhhh. She didn’t tell you, did she.” 

“I…” Davey scrubbed at his face and ran his thumb across his fingers. “No. No.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Silver said, pointedly ignoring the other student, who was growing progressively more irate. “Family matters, apparently.”

“She never said,” he said, his voice cracking. He could feel a swell of panic rising within him, and he tried to keep his face straight. _Oh no, not here, not now—emotions off, Jacobs, emotions off…_  He felt his knees began to tremble and slapped his thigh to jolt him free from whatever uncontrollable wave was trying to drown him. _Emotions off! Turn them_ off, _dammit!_

“I’m afraid that’s all I know,” Mrs. Silver said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He jerked at her touch and tried to cover it up with a shaky laugh. “Right, right. Thank you, I… Sorry for interrupting,” he said, looking at the glowering student standing next to him and then nodding to Mrs. Silver. “I’m late for class, I have to go, I…" He swallowed and gave her a desperate look. "Thank you.” 

He didn’t even wait to hear the pleasantry that Mrs. Silver murmured in response; he simply turned and fled.

_She resigned she resigned she’s gone she didn’t tell me and she's gone and she's gone and she's gone and_

He shoved through the library doors and tried to gather himself; why on earth did he even care about this? They were friends, that was all, and friends disappeared all the time, people surfaced and submerged and sank and sailed away and that was just how things were, so why did he care, he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, there was no way…

“I don’t even know her _name_ ,” he groaned, balling his hands up and pressing them into his eyes. Not her name, not her address, not a thing. There was no way to find her. She was gone. Just… just gone. Forever. This was a city of millions, of millions upon millions, and she was just one person. One small, dark-eyed, captivating, perfect person. Just one person in a sea of millions. He could search the streets his entire life and never find a trace of her. 

So that was it, then. It was over. It was over, and he hadn’t even known it had started, let alone what ‘it’ was.

…What _had_ it been, anyway, and why was he so upset over losing it? Why was he having trouble thinking? Why did he feel so rotten? 

He bit his lip and tried to quell the panic. Why did he care? Why did this matter? No, no, no-- he-- he couldn’t care. He didn’t. He _wouldn’t_. She was a friend, that was all. She was a friend, and losing a friend was sad, it was, it was sad, but... it wasn't  _that_ sad. It wasn't sad enough to make him feel sick. It wasn't sad enough to warrant stopping dead still in the middle of the walkway during class change. She was a friend, and friends left, and then you were sad, and then new friends came along, and then it was fine. It would be fine. It was _already_ fine. He felt someone bump into his shoulder, and he dropped his hands from his face. _Pull yourself together, Jacobs; you don’t even know her name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pullout sofas hadn't been invented yet, so the Jacobs have a folding bed for when Davey and or Les are home from school.
> 
> The College of the City of New York was the name of the City College of New York (CUNY) back then. It was a free prep school / high school / college designed to serve academically high-achieving immigrants’ children and poorer New Yorkers by providing an excellent education for free. In the early 1900s, the school’s mandatory chapel attendance was done away with, partly in response to the increasing number of Jewish students attending the school.
> 
> The single Yiddish words are various insults. 
> 
> _“Nem Zich a vaneh”_ means “go jump in a lake,” and _“Gey strashe di gens”_ means “go threaten the geese” :) 
> 
> _Sheket bevakasha_ is Hebrew for “be quiet”
> 
> THINGS ARE HEATING UP :O 
> 
> ;) I hope you liked it!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey has a chat with his mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ties in to my Bundle of Joy fic; it takes place right after [this chapter.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373643/chapters/32171838)

**March 1909**

David checked his watch after leaving Jack’s. 8:30am. He didn’t have class until two; might as well combine this unexpected trip to Lower Manhattan with a visit to his parents.

“Hi Mama,” he said, unlocking the door and walking into the large room that served as kitchen, family room, and Les’ bedroom all at once. “It’s me.”

“Bubbeleh!” His mother turned from the stove, delight writ clear across her face. That delight quickly shifted into horror when she saw the bruise blossoming across his nose. “What _happened?”_

“ _Zok nit kin vey_ ,” Davey said, slipping off his shoes and going to give his mother a hug. “Katherine had her baby this morning, and Jack went a little bit _meshugeh_ , is all. I’m fine.” 

Esther Jacobs narrowed her eyes at her eldest son, who laughed and sat down at the kitchen table. “I promise, Mama.” 

She crossed her arms, wooden stirring spoon still in one hand. “He punched you because he had a baby?”

“Sort of?” Davey leaned his head on one hand. “He got upset and fought his way into the delivery room.” She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged in response, not interested in elaborating. “First child jitters, I suppose. But I’m fine, Mama. Really.” 

“Hmm.” 

“So are Katherine and the baby,” Davey said, running his index finger across the grain of the wooden table. “It’s a girl, by the way—Eleanor Joy.”

“That’s wonderful news,” she said, smiling as she returned to the stovetop and picked up the teapot. “I’ll have to bring a meal by later this week.”

“They’d appreciate that,” he said, nodding his thanks as his mother poured him a cup of steaming hot tea. He sipped at it gingerly and listened to the noises coming from the second bedroom, where it sounded like Sarah had her hands full with two unhappy children. “Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Eleanor was very… squashed-looking.”

Esther’s lips twitched. “Is that so?” 

“Mhmm,” he said, a mouthful of tea preventing him from speaking.

“All newborns are squashy, bubbeleh,” Esther said patiently, trying not to laugh. “Think about where they’ve just come from, na?”

“Mama!” Davey spluttered.

“What?” His mother said, nonplussed. “You were squashy, too,” she pointed out, coming over to hug him again. “Big and beautiful and oh so squashy.” She buried her nose in his hair and kissed his scalp. “And no matter how big and beautiful you get, you will always be my squashy baby.”

“Mama!” Davey said again, although this time he was laughing.

“And you had the biggest blue eyes,” his mother continued, returning to her cooking.

“Blue? But my eyes aren’t blue!” 

“Bright blue,” Esther nodded. “They changed over time; so did Sarah’s.” 

“That’s slightly disconcerting,” Davey muttered.

Esther laughed. “It’s normal, sweetheart.”

“Normal can still be unsettling,” Davey countered. “Like Les. Les is very unsettling sometimes. Who knows what goes through that head of his…” His eyes took on a wicked glint. “Maybe he got a little too squashed on the way out?”

“Dovid!” Esther glared at him. “Don’t be mean.” He gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look, and she shook her head, muttering, “Squashy babies, all of you.”

“What did Sarah think when my eyes changed?”

Esther smiled fondly at the memory. “Oh, she was amazed. Of course, she thought that everything you did was astounding—she used to lie next to you on the floor and narrate what you were doing, second by second.” Mrs. Jacobs switched her voice to imitate a tiny Sarah and said, “‘Mama, Dovid blinked at me! That’s how he says hello, did you know that? Mama, Dovid is sucking on his fingers! Look how cute he is. Mama, Dovid is kicking his legs! I think he wants to go somewhere. Can we take him to the park? I think he’d like the park…’” Esther laughed and shook her head. “I used to tell her you wanted to see how long she could stay quiet just so I could have a moment’s peace. She wouldn’t stop talking if I asked her to, of course, but if her _brother_ wanted her to—well, that was a different story. She was just smitten.”

David grinned. “That’s how I felt about Les. Everything he did was magic.”

“You two were precious together,” Mrs. Jacobs sighed, a fond smile on her face. “My sweet boys.”

Davey ran his thumb over the tips of his fingers and stood to cut himself a piece of bread for breakfast.

“Do you think that’s something you’ll want one day, bubbeleh?”

“Hmm?” 

“Children.” 

“Oh,” Davey said, his mouth full of bread. “Um. Someday, I think, but…” He shrugged. “Jack really wanted this baby, Mama. He was just… Well, you saw him. He spent the last nine months floating on a cloud, and now… Now it’s like he’s gone all the way to heaven. He’s just thrilled.” 

Esther nodded, waiting for the ‘but.’ 

“It’s just… he’s so happy, and I... I don’t think I’d feel like that right now.” He angled his head towards the second bedroom, where Sarah could clearly be heard trying to soothe her wailing children, and said, “Rivka and Eva are hard work. I’m doing enough hard work already, what with school and all, and I… I just…” He shrugged again. “Well, I don’t even have a girl.”

“You could, though,” Esther wheedled. “You’re a good boy—kind, smart, handsome—you could have a girl. There seem to be more children your age in this building than the old one, so you don’t even have to look far—the downstairs neighbor has two daughters about your age, nice Jewish girls, they seem very respectful—of course, the older one just got married, but the younger—”

“Mama!” Davey raised his hands to stop her. “Mama, please. Let me finish school first, alright? I’ll be done come summer, and then we can talk more about the girl thing. Just… just give me a few months, okay? I can’t do it right now.”

“Okay,” Esther sighed. “I’m sorry, zissele. I want you to be okay, that’s all. I want you to be safe and secure.”

“I am, Mama,” Davey said, rising to give his mother a tight hug. “And I can be that without a woman, too, you know.”

“I know,” Mrs. Jacobs squeezed her son, who had grown so tall that he towered over her now. “I just worry sometimes.” 

“I know,” Davey echoed. “Remind yourself that you don’t need to, though. I have you and Papa and Les and Sarah and Avram and Rivka and Eva and Jack and Katherine and—well, I have so many people that I can’t even name them all. What do I need a woman for? I have all of you, I have my degree and I’m about to have another, I have some interest from employers—I have family and friends looking out for me and a job on the way. I’m going to have food, and I’m going to have shelter. I’m going to be _fine_ , Mama.” He took a deep breath and rubbed her back in reassurance. “In fact, I already am.” 

“Oh, my sweet David,” Esther sighed, pulling gently away from him. “Okay. Well. You go study, then. Stop _plaplening_ with your mother and do your homework.”

“Okay, Mama.” David leaned back in to kiss his mother lightly on the cheek, and then he hefted his satchel and slung it across his chest. “I’ll be on the roof if you need me, alright? Quieter up there.”

“ _Gey, gey,”_ Esther said, waving her hand and turning back to the stove. 

David smiled at his mother, even though she couldn’t see it, and made his way to the fire escape.

The roof wasn’t quiet—nothing in the tenements was ever quiet—but it was a comforting sort of not-quiet, with the buzz of the street noise and the distant sirens and the rumble of the trains and the clops of the horse-drawn carts passing by. David pulled out his books, bent on reviewing the latest chapter before class, and set himself to work. The day’s events had taken their toll on him, however, and the combination of the 4am wakeup call, the adrenaline rush of trying to calm and then revive and then restrain Jack, and the lack of coffee had him nodding off in no time at all. The hum of the city washed over him, the sunlight warmed his face, and he fell asleep, the book still clutched tightly in his hands. 

He didn’t even realize he’d been asleep until he heard the clanging noise of someone climbing up the ladder that led to the roof, which echoed through his head just enough to slowly rouse him. His eyes still firmly closed, he began to apologize for causing an inconvenience. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled, trying to make himself open his eyes and failing miserably. “I know the library’s closin’, I’ll pack up now, I just…” He felt himself sinking back into sleep again, and, still unaware of his surroundings, he let his head loll farther to the side.

He dozed for a minute or so more, but then he was pulled back awake by the sound of footsteps on the roof. “Gimme a minute, Miss Rosenfeld,” he muttered, and began fumbling for his books. Then, as he opened his eyes for real, his head cleared, the muzziness dissipated, and he realized where he was. This wasn’t the library, and Miss Rosenfeld wasn’t here. His heart sank, and he sighed. 

Then he heard a soft, feminine ‘oh’ from just behind him.

David whirled to look over his shoulder and froze, certain he’d fallen back asleep without realizing it. This wasn’t real. There was no way. He’d wanted this so much that his head had filled in the gaps, and now… now he was dreaming. He… he was. He _was._ He was, because if he wasn’t, then… then… then he could… _No. Stop it, David._ He was dreaming. He had to be.

“Mr. Jacobs,” the woman said in an utterly real voice, her eyes as big as saucers. 

He gaped for a second or two more, and then he took a deep breath, blinked, and managed to croak out a reply. “Hello, Miss Rosenfeld.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O SURPRISE!
> 
>  _Zok nit kin vey_ —Don’t worry  
>  _Meshugeh_ —crazy  
>  _Plaplen_ is to chat/chatter, and so I just smushed it up with some English because I couldn’t find the gerund form of it in Yiddish online, and I figure part of moving to another country is mashing your language together with the prevailing local language in whatever way makes sense to you, so… there we go. Plaplening is obviously not a real word, but I don't mind that, because people use non-real words all the time-- it's just that usually there are rules to the non-real words that are created, and I don't quite know the rules here. So, if you know Yiddish and can help me out with the linguistic side of this, please do!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Davey comes tantalizingly close to getting things right.

“I—what are you doing here?” Davey asked, astounded.

“I could ask you the same,” she said, bristling a little. 

“I _live_ here,” he said, spreading an arm to gesture out across the sprawl of tenement buildings.

“And here I thought you lived in the library,” she quipped.

He couldn’t help but smile. “It only feels like that.” 

“Well maybe you _should_ live there,” she said, taking a step closer and squinting her eyes at the bruise on his nose. “People usually do not get punched in libraries.” She reached out a tentative hand as if to touch it, then jerked it immediately back to her side. “Libraries are much safer than tenements.” 

“It’s not from the tenements,” Davey explained wearily. “It’s from—well, it’s a long story. But it’s not from the tenements. It was an accident, that’s all.” 

“Hmm.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he pushed. “What are you doing here?” 

“I do not live at the library, either.”

“I noticed,” he said, a bit sour. “Why did you resign?”

“Family matters.” Her voice was tight.

“Aren’t you going to answer _anything_ I ask you?”

Her face fell a little. “My sister got married.”

Davey raised an eyebrow. “Not an answer.”

She ran her teeth across her bottom lip, unintentionally causing it to redden and draw Davey’s eye. “My mother died several years ago,” she said finally, moving her right hand to clench tightly around her left wrist. “And my sister and I have been in charge of the house ever since.”

“Okay?” Davey thought he could tell where this was heading now, but he wanted her to give him a straight answer for once.

She swallowed and gave in. “Golda is older, so she took over once Mama died. She had more time to learn housekeeping from my mother, and…” She waved her hand. “She is much better at all of those things than I am. She likes them more, too. And I… Well, I always wanted to study.” She sighed and stared down at her shoes, an uncharacteristic gesture for someone who was usually so confident. “Studying is for boys, though.”

Davey frowned. “No, it’s not.” 

She gave him a resentful look. “How many women are in your classes?”

“That’s not fair—there’s a women’s college that partners with ours.” 

“How many women in your classes, Mr. Jacobs?”

He had the grace to look abashed. “None,” he mumbled. 

“You see? Studying is for boys,” she said decisively. “My parents agreed. But when Mama died, Golda said she would keep house only if I got to study.” Miss Rosenfeld’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “My father said no,” she said, answering the question on the tip of Davey’s tongue, “But Golda bargained. And so I got to work at the library until she married.” She met his eyes, as if daring him to comment. “She got married in December.”

“So you resigned.” 

She nodded. “So I resigned.”  

“But that’s not fair!” He exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. 

She gave him a confused look. “It is how it is. Fairness has nothing to do with it. Who expects fairness out of life, Mr. Jacobs? Surely not you?”

His nostrils flared and he took a step closer. “No,” he said, trying not to show how angry he was for her, “But I should have it. And I want it. And so I fight for it.” 

She laughed. “I cannot fight my father. It is not right.”

“Your sister fought for you,” he pointed out.

“Mmm,” she said, softening a little.

“I know life isn’t fair,” he said, his expression deadly serious. “But that’s why I’m becoming a lawyer, Miss Rosenfeld. To make things fairer. To fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves, who need help to win the fights that need to be won. Fights like yours. You should be able to study if you want to. You should be able to have whatever you want to. You-- you--" He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, but the heat was still in his voice. "You deserve the world, Miss Rosenfeld.” 

Her face shuttered again. “It is too late.” 

“It’s never too late,” he said, reaching out a hand.

She crossed her arms. “This was the deal, Mr. Jacobs. Work at the library until my sister marries. Read all the books I want until she marries." She clenched her jaw and said stonily, "And now she is married, so now I stay home.”

A sudden pang of anger shot through his chest, and this time he wasn’t sure if it was _for_ her or _at_ her. Maybe both. “So that day in the library,” he said, taking another step towards her, “The day you let me study overnight— you— you knew you were leaving,” he said, his voice rough. “You knew you were leaving, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I knew,” she confirmed, pulling her arms even tighter to her chest. “I knew, and I didn’t tell you.” Something flickered behind her eyes, and she added, her voice suddenly soft, “But you clearly think I should have. Why?” 

Davey froze. That was a question he hadn’t expected. He knew exactly what the answer would have been if Jack had asked him that question, or Kath, or Charlie— _because I_ care _about you, you idiot, because my life is better with you around, because I like spending time with you, because you make me smile, because we get along and I want to be there to see you take on the world and win_ —but he could say those things to them because they were his friends. And Miss Rosenfeld… she wasn't a friend. No, that wasn’t right—he and Miss Rosenfeld were friends. They... they  _were_ friends, weren’t they? Friends. They were friends. They were friends friends friends just friends. 

“Because we’re _friends!”_ He burst out, throwing his hands into the air. They were friends, and friends told each other these sorts of things. That’s how friendship worked.

That was apparently not the right answer, though, because her face grew stormy and her spine stiffened. “Some friend _you_ are, Mr. Jacobs,” she snapped, her eyes glistening with rage and… tears? Tears of rage, surely. “Do you even know my name?”

He blinked, completely taken aback. 

She set her hands on her hips and stared him down, dark and furious, her small stature belying the force of her emotion and the power of her gaze. “No?” She asked, her voice icy. “No. That’s what I thought.” She took a step closer to him and stuck a finger in his face. “Friends are people who know each other, _David.”_ He sucked in a breath, and her eyes flashed once more, triumphant and defeated all at once. "And you? You don’t know me at all.”

He gaped like a fish on a line, and she gave him one last, lingering look before spinning on her heel and walking away. He wanted to run after her, to fix this, to ask her what the hell was going on, but he couldn’t. He just… he couldn’t. And so, instead of calling her back, he let her disappear down the ladder, kicking himself as he listened to the clang of her shoes on the rungs. “I thought we were friends,” he whispered, feeling his heart thumping wildly. “I... I thought that we…” he began again, but he didn’t know where that sentence ended. And so he stood there, motionless, as she left his life once more.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!
> 
> I hope you liked this :) 
> 
> <333


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I answer all (most?) of the questions you had, and you find out if your theories were right.

**March 1909**

_“I didn’t tell you, but you clearly think I should have. Why?”_

_Because I care about you. Because I care_ for _you. Because talking with you, spending time with you, knowing you’re near—that makes me happy._ You _make me happy. And I think I make you happy, too._

 _Because you make me feel calm when my life is spinning. Because you make my hands sweat and my heart race. Because seeing you was the best part of my day, and I wish I’d known I was about to lose that. …about to lose_ you _._

_Because I spent the winter break thinking about you. Because I felt adrift the first month of classes when I didn’t try to go see you. Because when I realized that you’d left, I kicked myself for having taken you for granted._

_Because I missed you. Because I thought I’d have more time with you, and I’d have done things differently if I’d known you were leaving. Because maybe I would have said something to change things between us._

_Because…_

David growled in frustration and slammed his book shut. He was getting absolutely nowhere with his studies, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure why he was trying to. He had spent the last week going over his last conversation with Miss Rosenfeld, playing and replaying it in his head, thinking of everything he should have said, of all the ways he could have handled things differently, of all the hundreds of thousands of combinations of words that would have convinced her to stay. 

What frustrated him most of all was that he’d wanted to say all those things back then, to make the sort of gut-wrenching, soul-baring, heart-stopping confession that he’d thought he’d only ever read in books, to look into her eyes and tell her… no. He didn’t want to tell her he loved her, because he wasn’t sure that he did. But he did like her, he was sure of that, and he wanted to hold her hand and buy her dinner and take her for a walk in Central Park. And after that, he wanted to see where life took the two of them. He wanted to see what happened the next day and the day after that. He wanted to give it—to give _them_ —a shot.

But he hadn’t. His heart had stopped and his tongue had frozen and he’d let her go without so much as a ‘wait.’ He knew now that he’d made the wrong choice, but knowing that now was no help at all. Not when he’d already screwed everything up. She was gone, and it was over. Redoing that moment was impossible. 

It was impossible, and yet his mind simply wouldn’t let him think about anything else.

 _Enough is enough_ , David thought, shoving his book into his satchel and stalking out of the library. _Stop thinking and start doing. Be brave. Be hopeful. Be… be like Jack._ His eyes hardened, and he strode off the campus and caught a street car down to Lower Manhattan.

 

*

 

“Hi, Katherine. I know you’ve got your hands full with Eleanor, but I was hoping to get your thoughts on something.”

“Come in,” Katherine said, her smile a little forced as she bounced a squalling Eleanor on her hip. “Or, actually—” She paused, thought, and brightened. “Mama?” She called. “Will you take Eleanor? Davey needs a sounding board, and I’d like to treat him to coffee.” Davey gave her a confused look, but Katherine just waved him off. “I need some fresh air, anyway. It’s fine.”

He shrugged and greeted Katherine’s mother, who hefted Eleanor away from Katherine and gave the wailing baby a kiss on the head. “Off you go, then, darling,” said Kate Pulitzer, handing Katherine a spring jacket and pushing her gently out the door.

“You see?” Katherine said, squeezing Davey’s arm and locking the apartment door behind her. “It’s fine.” 

“Thanks, Kath.”

“Of course. So, catch me up. What’s on your mind?” 

By the time David had finished explaining the situation, he and Katherine were sitting at a table in the front window of a small café, sipping gingerly at steaming cups of coffee. “So you see,” he said, “I just… I’m not sure what to do. I’ve made a mess of things, I know that, but… Should I try to fix it? Should I leave her be? I don’t even know if she… I mean, I don’t know if… I just… I don’t want to make things worse for her, you know? And I don’t mind feeling like this, I guess, so… I mean, I can handle this, it’ll fade, and…” He swirled a spoon around in his coffee even though he’d added neither cream nor sugar. “I just don’t know what to do, Kath. Should I try to forget her? Should I leave her alone so that I don’t cause her any more pain than I already have? I think that I… It… it would…” He sighed and stared down at the table, picking at the flowers in the centerpiece. “I just don’t know, Kath. I mean, if that’s what you think I… it would be hard, but… if that would be better, I could do that.”  

“Davey. David,” she said kindly, reaching her hand over his to stop him from worrying the centerpiece to shreds. “Do you care for her?” 

“I…” He looked up at her, his expression agonized. 

She looked at him, and his eyes told her all she needed to know. “Ah. You do.”

He nodded and dropped his head once more.

“Then tell her so.”

“I can’t.”

“She needs to hear it.”

“I…” He rubbed his finger back and forth across the tablecloth. “I don’t know how to find her.”

“Oh, but I do,” Katherine said, her eyes sparkling. “She was on the roof of your building, right? So obviously she lives there. She practically told you as much.”

“But that building is huge,” he said, feeling the panic starting to rise at the thought of knocking on every single one of those doors. And he’d have to do it multiple times, too, because people were always coming in and out, and okay, he’d do it, if that’s what it took to find her then he’d do it, but he could already feel the worry tightening around his chest… 

“Davey!” Kath snapped her fingers in front of his nose. “Davey, come on now. I wasn’t done talking. You know her _last_ name, right? So ask around and find out where the Rosenfelds live.” 

“It’s a common last name; there’s probably more than one,” he said dryly. “But yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Okay. She probably does live there, and I can… I mean, it’s not…” He took a breath and looked back up at Katherine. “I’m… I’m not going to scare her by doing that?”

“I mean—maybe?” Katherine said honestly, pulling on a curl and then letting it snap back into place. “But from what you’ve said, I really doubt it. I think she likes you a lot.” 

Davey flushed, and the corners of his mouth tugged slightly upwards. “Really?”

Katherine resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling instead for a stern look. “Yes. It sounds like she’s sending you all the signals; she’s just not as forward as I am.”

“I wish she were forward like you,” Davey groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Jack had it so easy—he didn’t have to wonder about how you felt!” 

Katherine snorted. “You don’t have to wonder about how this girl feels, either,” she pointed out. “Not at this stage. She definitely likes you.” Davey raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Katherine sighed. “Honestly, for someone so smart, you sure are a dimwit when it comes to romance.” 

“I am well aware of that, thank you,” he said, jiggling his leg a little. “Why do you think I asked for your help?” 

She laughed and leaned back in her chair, then crossed her arms and looked him up and down. “Hmm. The shirt you’re wearing today is nice; wear that when you go look for her.” Her eyes widened suddenly, and she snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait, no! Just go find her now!”

_“What?!”_

Katherine grinned. “You heard me. Go get the girl already, Davey.”

 

*

 

Being Davey, he did not 'go get the girl already' directly after talking to Katherine. He was feeling a little more confident as a result of the coffee cheer-up session, yes, but not _that_ confident. Besides, he still had to figure out which apartment she lived in. Heck, he had to figure out if she lived in the building at all. Newsies hung out on random rooftops all the time; who was to say Miss Rosenfeld didn’t do the same? _That’s idiotic and you know it_ , he told himself, but that knowledge did not lead to action. At least not right away, anyhow; he had midterms to get through first. As soon as they were over, though, he was headed home for spring break, and then he was going to find her. He  _was_.

Before he started studying, he sent a letter to Les, knowing that his brother was social, charming, and inquisitive enough to handle this rather unusual request. It clued Les in to what Davey was up to, of course, and that was something Davey would rather have avoided, but it couldn’t be helped. Les lived at home still, Les knew the new neighbors, Les could make a rock share its life story. Les was the right man for the job.

 

*

 

**April 1909**

David steeled himself and knocked on the scuffed door in front of him. The door to the apartment directly below his parents’ new place, in fact. The door he’d walked by every time he came home for weekends or breaks or major holidays over the past year. The door he hoped would be opened by the woman who made him think that maybe he could want things, have things, be things he’d never thought he could.

“Just a minute,” came the call from inside, and he had a hard time recognizing the voice through the door, but he wanted it to be her, he so wanted it to be her, and then he heard the latches and locks being undone, and then the door was opening, and then he took a deep breath, and then—“What are _you_ doing here?” 

It was her. 

“I came to see you, Miss Rosenfeld,” he said, keeping his voice determined even as the blush crept up his neck. “Can I… Can I come in?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Now is not a good time,” she said, starting to close the door. 

“No, wait!” He grabbed the door with one hand, keeping her from closing it any further. “Wait, I—” He paused at the look on her face and then blurted, “You were wrong. Last time, I mean.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat and ran his thumb over his fingers, finally ready to say his piece. “Up there on the rooftop, you said… You said that I didn’t know you at all. But that—that’s not true. I know that you always keep a book in the pocket of your skirt so that you never miss a chance to read. I know that you don’t like plain bagels because you think life should be flavorful. I know that you found a stray kitten in the snow and persuaded Mrs. Thompson to keep it in her office all winter so that it wouldn’t freeze in the cold. I know that you use sarcasm to hide your feelings, and that the more sarcastic you are, the more afraid you are of being hurt. I know that you’re self-conscious about your accent, so you read poetry aloud in the stacks when you think you’re alone. I know that you’re loyal and true and smart and practical, and I know that you make delicious honey wheat bread. I know that you wear red on Mondays, blue on Wednesdays, and violet on Fridays, and I know that you talk about the weather whenever anyone asks about your family. I know that you think you have to do everything alone, that you’re a little island and you always will be, and… and I also know that it doesn’t have to be that way.” 

Her eyes were wide now, but her face was still, so still that he had no idea what was running through her head. She was listening to him, though, and she’d opened the apartment door a little bit more, too. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Shaking slightly, David braced his hand underneath the mezuzah and hoped against hope that the words he said next would be the right ones. The ones that would convince her to... well. The ones that would make it obvious that he liked her.

Because he did. He really, really did. He liked her so much that he still wasn’t sure what to do about it. He liked her so much that he’d actually discussed his feelings with other people. He liked her so much that he’d searched for --and found-- her when she'd vanished into thin air. He liked her so much that now, standing in front of her, seeing the intelligence behind her eyes and the stubbornness in her stance, he wanted to run away and hide like the six-year-old version of himself who’d been terrified to start primary school.

Luckily, though, he also liked her so much that he was willing to open his mouth and risk his heart. 

_Do it, Jacobs. Come on now._

He nodded firmly in order to give himself courage and told her, “You see? I know you. It doesn’t really matter what your first name is, because I don’t need to know that to know _you_. To know that I… that I care about you. A lot. And to know that… that I’d take you out in a heartbeat if you’d let me.” He paused, then flashed a cheeky smile. “Besides, a Rosenfeld by any other name would smell as sweet—wouldn’t it, Chaya?” 

She gasped, grinned, and then quickly grabbed his hand, pressing her palm firmly against his own. He felt his throat catch as he looked down at her and saw her beaming back up at him, her face finally completely open, her dark eyes dancing with joy. “You’d better come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!! 
> 
> I know a lot of you were really looking forward to this story, so I hope you liked it, and I also really hope that this last chapter delivered! I've literally had the most important sections of that last bit of dialogue there written out since January, so I always knew where this was going; all I can do now is hope that you are satisfied with that destination. :)
> 
> An awful lot of you guessed the major plot points by the end of chapter one or two, so pat yourselves on the back. I was impressed. It was hard not to write comments saying 'oh my gosh! how did you KNOW!' ...but I restrained myself.
> 
> Anyway! Thanks to all of you for reading and kudo-ing, and, as always, extra special thanks to those kind souls who comment! <3


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